The sentry jp-3 Page 6

  She said, "It's beautiful here."

  She stretched, and spread her hands to the sky, as she smiled again.

  "I love the breeze we get. Everyone makes fun of the smog, but most of the time it's clear. Don't you love it? Don't you love that fabulous ocean breeze?"

  Pike said, "Yes."

  That's when Pike saw a man outside the surf shop a few doors down from the restaurant. A life-sized statue of a surfer with a shark's head stood outside the shop. The man was behind the statue. He moved when Pike turned. A small move like a buoy rocking on a wave, just enough to disappear behind the shark's surfboard.

  The man was lean, dark, and probably Latin, though Pike couldn't see him well enough with the bad angle to tell. With the quick glimpse, Pike made the man for his early forties, with a shaved scalp and furry arms.

  Dru smiled lazily.

  "This is nice, being here like this."

  Pike said, "Yes."

  She couldn't see Pike's eyes behind the dark glasses, and didn't know he was watching the man.

  The man sauntered out from behind the statue and fell in with a group of passing tourists. He wore an unbuttoned pale orange short-sleeved shirt over a white T-shirt, dark jeans, and sunglasses. The shirt and the bald head keyed a memory, and Pike realized the man had passed them before. Pike had not seen him double back, which made Pike suspicious because Pike had outstanding situational awareness, which meant he noticed everything in his environment. In Pike's world, the things you didn't notice could and would hurt you.

  As the man drew closer, Pike saw a tattoo on the side of his neck. The ink suggested a gang affiliation, but Pike couldn't see it clearly enough to tell. He wondered if Azzara had lied, and now Mendoza's friends were upping their game, or maybe Azzara had not had time to call off the dogs.

  The man left the crowd to take a position behind a street vendor selling hats and T-shirts. Now he was on a cell phone, and Pike wondered whether he was talking or only pretending.

  Pike said, "We'd better go."

  Dru's face drooped in exaggerated disappointment.

  "Wow. This is a short date."

  "Is this a date?"

  "It could be."

  Dru made an effort to pay, but Pike put down cash and told her they didn't need to wait for change. When he glanced over again, the man in the orange shirt was gone.

  Pike was trying to spot the man when Dru noticed, and turned to see.

  "What are you looking at?"

  Pike stepped in front of her, hoping the man hadn't seen.

  "Don't look."

  She stepped to the side, trying to see-

  "Is it one of those guys?"

  Pike slid in front of her again.

  "It's nothing to worry about."

  She was frightened, and now Pike felt irritated with himself. He took her hand. It was soft, but firm beneath the softness.

  "We're fine. Come on. I'll walk you home."

  Pike squeezed her hand once, then let go, but he could feel her tension as they walked back to the shop.

  On the way, he touched her back to stop her twice, pretending to window shop so he could check for shadows, but the man in the orange shirt was gone and no one else was following.

  When they reached the corner, Pike paused again. He checked the cars lining the curbs, the rooflines, the nearby shops, and the gas station across the street. Wilson's sandwich shop was quiet and undisturbed, but now Dru walked as if she were brittle. Her confidence and ease were gone, and Pike felt a sense of failure. He had lost control of the moment, and Pike did not like losing control.

  She said, "Are we okay?"

  "We're fine. I overreacted."

  She shook her head.

  "You don't look like the overreacting type."

  He followed her to her car, the silver Tercel parked directly behind the sandwich shop.

  "Want me to come in with you?"

  "I've done all I can with this place, believe me. I have to see about Wilson."

  Pike nodded, the two of them facing each other, neither of them moving to leave.

  "Listen. Thanks. I mean it. I know I keep saying it, but thanks."

  "Can I see you again?"

  Her smile returned.

  He said, "A date."

  She smiled wider, but the smile vanished in what Pike read as a wave of uncertainty.

  He said, "What?"

  She pulled a slim billfold from her pocket, flipped through a card carrier, and showed him a picture of a little girl. The girl wore a fluffy dress and stood beside a green couch.

  "This is Amy. My sister's taking care of her until we know whether or not I can make it out here."

  Pike said, "Pretty."

  "Love of my life. She's three now."

  Dru stared at the picture a moment, then slipped the billfold back into her pocket. She looked at Pike, then glanced away with a shrug.

  "I dunno-I guess I just wanted you to know."

  Pike nodded, sensing she was afraid he would not want to get involved with a woman who had a child. He asked her again.

  "Are you going out with me or not?"

  Her white smile flashed again. She dug out her cell phone and asked for his number. Pike told her, and watched as she sent him a text.

  "This is my number. Call me. I'd love to go out with you. On a real date."

  She put her cell phone away, then went up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Pike cupped the small of her back as her body pressed into his. Pike was moved. She had given him a secret piece of herself when she told him about the child, and now, when she stepped back, he felt compelled to do the same.

  "What Button said-Button doesn't know anything about me."

  Pike fell silent, thinking how best to explain about the way he had lived his life and the choices he had made. Rescuing a businessman's family from Nicaraguan narco-terrorists. Stopping the bandits who looted farms and villages in Central Africa. Pike had chosen his jobs as a military contractor carefully, and speaking about them now seemed pretentious and self-serving. He finally gave up.

  "I tried to help people. I'm good at it."

  Pike couldn't think of anything else to say. He let it go at that, and felt embarrassed for bringing it up.

  Then Dru laid her palm on his chest, and it felt like she touched his heart.

  "I'll bet you are."

  She climbed into her car, then looked up at him.

  "Do you ever take off those sunglasses?"

  Pike took off his sunglasses. The light made him squint, but he fought it to let her see.

  She studied his eyes for a moment.

  "Good. Very good."

  She started her car and gave him a parting smile.

  "If you're going to be dangerous, you might as well be dangerous for me."

  Pike watched her drive away, then scanned the length of the alley. Nothing.

  He put on the sunglasses, then walked around the end of the building and returned to his Jeep. Reaching the door, he saw what looked like a flyer wedged under the windshield wiper. Closer, he saw it was not a flyer, but a folded piece of paper. Pike clocked the surroundings again, and now his inner radar pinged with the weight of eyes.

  He lifted out the paper and unfolded it.

  GREEN MALIBU

  FOUR SPOTS AHEAD

  Pike saw the green Malibu parked four spots ahead just as the man in the orange shirt stepped from the secondhand clothing store. The man pointed a thumb at the Malibu. Jerry Button pushed out of the passenger door. A second man got out of the driver's door. He was all hard angles and edges, like a mirror that had been broken and taped back together. He looked impatient, and studied Pike with thoughtful eyes as they walked over.

  Button said, "This is Joe Pike. Pike, this is Jack Straw. He's with the FBI."

  Straw said, "You're screwing me up, brother. That has to stop."

  8

  The man in the orange shirt walked away when Button and Straw got out of the car. He did not look at them or Pike a
gain.

  Button said, "Let's take a ride. Better if we're not seen."

  The Malibu was a brand-new rental, but smelled of cigarettes. Pike sat in back, with Straw behind the wheel and Button in the shotgun seat. Button twisted to see Pike as they pulled from the curb. He looked as if he had hoped never to see Pike again, but here they were, and now he was irritated.

  "That business between you and me, we have to forget that now, okay? Special Agent Straw is out of the Houston Field Office. Turns out he has an investigation running, and we've stepped into the middle of it, thanks to you."

  Pike looked into the mirror and found Straw watching him.

  "The man in the orange shirt."

  "I'm going to tell you some things I'd rather not, but I can't divulge where I have people placed. You understand why?"

  "We'll see."

  "Okay. Hang on, and let me get pulled over. Easier to talk."

  Straw drove three short blocks inland and parked behind a row of upscale beachwear shops. The moment they stopped, he rolled down his window and lit a Marlboro. Pike and Button rolled down their windows, too.

  Straw turned to face Pike, and showed his credentials. Special Agent R. Jack Straw. Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  "Okay?"

  Pike nodded, wondering what this was about.

  Straw tucked away his badge case and considered Pike through the smoke.

  "What did you think of Mikie Azzara?"

  Pike was surprised, though he showed no expression.

  Straw read his silence anyway, and smiled.

  "Not your traditional Mexican Mafioso, is he, all sleeved-out and nasty? He's the new generation, and we're all over him-"

  Straw checked his watch.

  "-which is how I know you met with him two hours ago at the Starbucks on Abbot Kinney. After which you hooked up with Ms. Rayne and went to the Sidewalk Cafe. They make a good pizza. My favorite meal since I've been here."

  Straw craned his head to geyser more smoke out the window, then glanced at Button.

  "My new best friend here, Detective Button, he thinks this conversation is a mistake."

  Button stared out the window.

  "It is. You're going to regret it."

  "I don't think so, but either way I need your help, Mr. Pike, so here we are. Ms. Rayne tell you what's going on?"

  "What would she have told me?"

  "The two carnales you bounced, Mendoza and Gomer? This wasn't the first time they've been to see her uncle, and they didn't kick the shit out of him over a sandwich-they were sending a message."

  Button nodded along.

  "It's what you and I talked about, Pike. Smith lied. Those pricks were shaking him down."

  Straw had more of the cigarette. He looked fit enough, but Pike thought the man probably couldn't run twenty feet.

  "Mikie's spooling up a protection racket-pay the man or get your ass kicked, we'll break your window, steal your truck, whatever. It's a street-level thing, small-time, but it's only one of a number of new scams he's running. Underline new. These guys are making it up as they go."

  Button shifted in his seat, glancing at Pike but talking to Straw.

  "The girl may not know. Smith probably doesn't want her worried about it. He'd be up shit creek if she walked out on him."

  Pike said, "What does this have to do with me?"

  Straw had more of the cigarette.

  "You just scared Mikie off, and that's bad. We're clocking his business."

  Pike cocked his head.

  "The FBI rolled out for a neighborhood protection scam?"

  Straw smiled again.

  "I wouldn't give two shits and a cup of coffee about this, but the new jefes like Azzara, they aren't content to deal tar like their daddies. La Eme is entering the modern age, Mr. Pike. They're trying new business models, and this shakedown thing is just one piece. They're also developing international ties with several cartels, and that interests me very much. Hence, my operation and this conversation."

  Pike glanced at Button.

  "You didn't know?"

  "Not until this morning."

  Straw finished his cigarette, and flicked it over his shoulder.

  "With apologies to Detective Button, we didn't have boots on the ground two weeks ago. When we learned about Mikie's new venture, we decided this was our way into La Eme's new food chain. It's happening fast."

  Pike said, "Through a neighborhood shakedown."

  Straw shrugged.

  "It's down at the street level, we can reach it, and it's easy. Easy means fast. New boys like Azzara are popping up in Eme sets from Brownsville to Phoenix to San Diego, and we don't even know who they are. If we can get inside Mikie's set, we can find out, which is what we were doing until you got in the way."

  Straw shifted again, and looked apologetic.

  "Brother, listen, you did the right thing. If I saw those two clowns stomping some poor guy, I'd weigh in, too. I respect that. But now it's over, and I need things to go back to the way they were."

  Pike said, "Meaning what?"

  Button shifted angrily.

  "He wants you to mind your own fucking business. What don't you get about that?"

  Straw raised a hand, telling Button to take it easy.

  "I'm asking you to cool it. Stay away from Smith and let him go back to being Smith. Don't be his personal sentry. Let Azzara be Azzara."

  Pike saw what Straw wanted, and didn't like it.

  "Azzara being Azzara means he puts the pressure on Smith. Mendoza and Gomer will be free to lean on him."

  "I need the little men, so I can trade for the big men. This means I need the little men out doing crime so I can jam them. If I jam them up bad, I can use them as informants."

  Button nodded along, still scowling at Pike.

  "Smith isn't the only guy these turds are trying to milk, Pike. It's not like he's in this alone. Straw and his people are watching five or six shops-"

  Pike leaned toward Straw.

  "You were watching his place and let him get a concussion. You watched a brick go through his window."

  Straw hit Button with a glance so hard it could have knocked him out of the car.

  "We didn't allow those things. They just happened, and now we'll cover him better."

  "I won't leave these people hanging."

  "You're not. I have it covered."

  "You had it covered when he got a concussion."

  "We'll cover him better."

  Straw suddenly opened his door.

  "Pike, step out for a moment. Excuse us, Detective."

  Pike pushed out, leaving Button alone. Straw came around the car to meet Pike on the sidewalk. Straw's lips were pursed tight, but he lit another cigarette, and lighting it seemed to relax him. He fanned at the smoke.

  "We fucked up, okay? We're still learning how these guys do things, but we're learning. Just back away. That's what I'm asking."

  Pike studied the man. Straw had serious eyes, but he also looked nervous. Like he had a lot riding on this, and might lose it all.

  Pike said, "If I tell Wilson and Dru, you're done."

  "You won't tell."

  "You have no idea what I'll do."

  "Maybe not. But I did some checking. You worked for top-flight PMCs. Even did some work for the government, time to time, though no one's supposed to know. They don't give those clearances to people who can't keep it wrapped."

  Straw looked at Pike, out from under his eyebrows, and now the smile was back.

  "Surprising what a guy like me can find out, isn't it?"

  Pike didn't respond, so Straw shrugged again.

  "Listen, you want these people safe? Brother, so do I, and I guarantee you my way is best. Wilson Smith could've sunk these guys right in the ER, but he didn't. He's scared. He's just some poor bastard who wants to fry oysters. You let me get what I need from Azzara, I can help him for real."

  Pike didn't like any of it, and he didn't like Straw or the Malibu stinking of
smoke.

  "How long?"

  "Two or three weeks. Maybe less."

  Pike scanned both sides of the street, wondering if the man in the orange shirt was watching.

  Straw said, "You think about it. In the meantime, don't say anything to Smith or his niece. They need to act natural. If you tell them we're watching, you know what will happen. I might as well head back to Texas."

  Pike said, "Man in the orange shirt, he's good."

  Straw squinted at Pike through more smoke.

  "What man in the orange shirt?"

  Straw turned back to his car.

  "C'mon. I'll give you a lift back."

  "I'm good."

  Pike walked.

  9

  Later that night, just after ten, the air was cool as Pike jogged toward home through Santa Monica, wearing the forty-pound pack. Pike was a runner. He had been a runner since he was a boy, and ran every day. He sometimes ran twice a day, once in the morning and again at night, and three or four times every week he carried a pack bearing four ten-pound bags of flour. Not nearly so much as the ninety pounds he rucked as a young Force Recon Marine, but it got his heart going.

  That night, he ran the Fourth Street steps. One hundred eighty-nine concrete steps climbing the steep bluff from the bottom of Santa Monica Canyon to San Vicente Boulevard. One hundred eighty-nine steps was as tall as a nine-story building, and Pike ran them twenty times, taking them two to a stride. He preferred running at night.

  During the day, the steps were clotted with hard-core fitness zealots, marathoners, aerobics instructors, and ordinary trudgers who were trying to get into shape. But at night in the dark when the footing was dangerous, the steps were deserted, and Pike could run at his peak. He liked being alone with his effort and his thoughts.

  Now, finished with the steps and jogging for home, Pike chose a route past Wilson's takeout shop. The hour was still early enough that people were out, but the little shop was deserted. Pike wondered if the man in orange was watching, but Pike didn't care. Pike had decided he would not tell Wilson and Dru the FBI was watching their shop, but his silence was as far as he would go. If Mikie was good at his word, the matter was settled. If not, Pike's loyalty lay with the victims, not with a case Straw might or might not be able to make. Pike would not back away. His arrows pointed forward, not back.